


Responsibilities

by orphan_account



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anal Fingering, Blow Jobs, Bottom Dean, Double Penetration, Dubious Consent, M/M, Pre-Series, Prostitution, Semi-Public Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-10
Updated: 2017-08-10
Packaged: 2018-12-13 14:19:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,322
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11761713
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Sometimes they need money. Sometimes Dad has to ask Dean to do things he'd rather not.





	Responsibilities

**Author's Note:**

> Written for a spnkink-meme prompt listed at the end.
> 
> This is more dubious consent than outright non-con, but I figured better to over-warn than under-warn.

_Then:_

“We’re almost out of money,” Dad had told him abruptly as they sat in the Impala outside the house, a bag of takeout hot on Dean’s lap. “We got enough to eat tomorrow, but rent’s running low, and…”

He ran a hand through his hair, not meeting Dean’s eyes. 

Dean nodded, even though he knew his father couldn’t see him. He could hear the unsaid parts of the sentence. _The hunt’s not done_. They couldn’t just camp out in Maine in January, and if they were going to head south, they had to at least finish with the coven first. That’d take another week at least, if it really was spread out over three counties, like Bobby had thought.

“What do you need me to do, Sir?”

Silence for a moment. Dean shifted in his seat. Through the window, he could just make out the shape of Sam sitting at the kitchen table, doubtlessly in the middle of homework. He liked it here, wanted to stay even after the witches had been rounded up. That wouldn’t happen if they couldn’t pay off the slimy douche who called himself a landlord. 

“You can say no,” Dad said then. “You don’t… we can figure something else out…”

“I understand, Sir. What do you need?”

And even before the words had left his mouth, he had known he wouldn’t say no.

*

_Now_

Dean’s knuckles are already going numb from supporting his weight, and he can feel the stickiness of the bathroom floor even through his thickest jeans (the first time, he hadn’t thought about it, had just pulled on the first pair his jittery hands got hold of. By the end, his knees had been worn raw against the hard cement).

He tries to ignore it. If it’s a good night, he won’t be wearing his pants long anyway.

Good. Relatively speaking.

He hears voices outside – Dad and a stranger – but he can’t make out the specifics. He bites down on his lips, trying to make them look full. The guys like that, usually. Sometimes enough to toss Dad a few extra dollars on the way out.

The door opens. Dean glances up, keeping his lashes lowered. A large mass of a man, eyeing him with a hunger that Dean can feel.

“Damn,” muttered the guy. “Door got to stay open?”

“That’s the deal,” Dad answers. “Can’t risk people damaging my property.”

“Fair enough.” He takes two steps towards Dean and grabs his chin. “Got you all tied up, huh, pretty boy? You need someone to teach you how to be good.”

(They like the rope. They always do, and they never realize that it’s for their own safety. The first customer Dean had ever had got a bloody nose soon as Dean felt a finger in his ass. Ever since then, Dad’s been insistent on binding his hands and, well, Dean hasn’t objected. His own fault he can’t control himself.) 

“Bet you think you can teach me a lot,” Dean replies.

The man laughs as he tugs down his zipper and pulls out an average-sized cock that curves very slightly leftward. He doesn’t pull a condom on. Dad says nothing from where he’s carefully watching to make sure the man doesn’t do anything he didn’t pay for, which means he handed over the fee for Dean to swallow. Fine.

“Open wide.” 

Dean licks his lips once more, and then he does.

 

It’s a good night.

 

After five or so hours – sometime between 3:00 and 4:00 AM – Dean is almost ready to call it quits. Not that it’s his decision, but they’re always gone before the sky starts to lighten.

Tonight, he’s sucked six dicks, half of them unwrapped, and taken four guys in his ass. More than enough to pay off the gas station owner for his silence, and to be able to buy food for the week. Maybe even enough to buy Sam some of the notebooks and binders he needs.

“I’d have to ask,” he hears Dad say outside. “Never done that before.”

A response, not loud enough for Dean to discern. Dad laughs, short and sharp. “Hey, I keep an eye out on him, but he’s the one really calling the shots, y’know?”

(It’s a line Dean’s heard before. Sometimes he even thinks it’s true.)

The bathroom door opens and Dad steps in. He kneels down so that he’s eye-level with Dean, careful to avoid the sticky spots where come has dripped from Dean’s face to the floor. “Hey there, kiddo. How you holding up?”

He reaches out and rubs Dean’s wrists, where the rope is digging in. His arms have gone numb from holding him up so long, and the returning sensation almost makes him fall, but Dad steadies him.

“I’m good, Sir.” His voice is rough. He hopes it clears up by morning, just so he doesn’t have to deal with one of Sam’s lectures about how bad smoking is for you.

“There are two guys out there. They wanna try something.”

Dean nods, and waits. Dad looks at the wall behind him, pausing before he speaks.

“You know what DP is?”

He’ll take _Things I never wanted my father to ask me_ for 2000 please, Alex.

“Yes, Sir.”

Dad nods, rubbing at the back of his neck. “They’re offering $350. No condoms.”

Dean doesn’t hesitate. “Alright. I’m game.”

“You sure?”

He always does this. Always asks, as if Dean would ever say no to him.

“Yes, sir.”

Dad nods and stands, then claps Dean on the shoulder. “We’ll be done after this. Money should last ‘til the end of the month, if we’re careful.”

“Yes, sir.”

Dad leaves. Dean hears voices, and then the door opens. One of the men kicks the doorstop in place as he enters. For a brief moment, Dean feels the old shame that came the first few times they did this, the humiliation of knowing Dad was watching him getting speared on other men’s cocks. He understands that it’s for his own safety, that with his hands bound, he might not be able to fight back quick enough if something happened. The knowledge doesn’t make it any easier.

“Damn. You got just as pretty a face as the rumors said.” They’re both on the younger side of middle-aged, the speaker with a ginger beard and the other bald except for a douchey-looking goatee. Not as ugly as most of the truckers who frequent places like this. 

“I live to please.”

They both laugh at that, and then, without warning, Goatee’s behind him with three fingers shoved up his hole. Dean hisses, more out of surprise than pain. He always preps, and he’s taken a lot tonight as it is. 

“Nice and loose. See, I told ya it was a good idea to wait ‘til later.” He scissors his fingers, and Dean gradually relaxes. “You ever done this before, kid?”

“I’m not a kid,” he says automatically, though it’s not like he’s got a license to whip out and prove he’s twenty. “And no. You fellas get to be my first.”

“Lucky us.” Ginger unzips his pants and frees his length without further ado and damn, he is not small. He pulls a travel-sized bottle of lube from his pocket and squeezes out a thick dollop, before he tosses it over to Goatee.

He squeezes some straight into Dean’s already-loose hole and fingers him for a few minutes longer. It’s enough that Dean starts getting hard himself. He’s only come once tonight. He won’t object to a second time.

“I think he’s ready,” Goatee announces when he’s four fingers deep, only his thumb braced against Dean’s tailbone. “Little slut’s had a lot already.”

The insult makes Dean’s cheeks burn. Which is stupid. He’s made ten people orgasm tonight, all of them strangers. It’s an apt label.

“C’mere.” Before he can react, Ginger is hoisting him up. From the corner of his eyes he sees Dad tense at the doorway, ready to step in if there’s a problem.

A moment later he feels glass beneath his head and a sharp edge digging into his lower back. They’ve gotten him braced up on the counter, his ass just hanging over the edge. He strains his abs to maintain something of a sitting position, wishing his hands were free so he could just balance on his elbows.

He isn’t sure who thrusts in first, but it goes hard and quick. They’ve got his legs pressed back to accommodate both of them, and his knees are practically touching his chin. The cold air soothes the burn of his ass, but it doesn’t do anything for the humiliating knowledge that Dad can see all of him, spread out like a pinned butterfly. Usually the guys are behind him; usually, he isn’t this exposed.

At first the two men alternate, one in, one out. It’s an uncomfortable position, but they nail his prostate almost every time, keeping him hard and leaking. He moans. He knows how much guys get off on that, much as it also hurts him to know that Dad will hear, even if he’s got his eyes focused somewhere else.

Then, without warning, he feels a stretch like he’s never felt before, not even in the days after Dad first asked him, when he was using all his fingers to test and push his limitations. This feels like a whole fist shoving up his hole, but he knows that it isn’t. 

Their cocks catch on his rim as they move together, tearing at his skin, but he doesn’t have time to worry before they’re both balls-deep in him again, and he shouts as he comes through the pain.

“Whore,” Goatee says, laughing. “Coming just on cock. Can only imagine what your daddy must think of you.”

The pace slows for a moment, Ginger and Goatee allowing his ass to just begin to adjust to them before they yank away and then brutally snap back into him.

Dean lets out a sound that’s dangerously close to a whimper. One of them, he thinks it’s Ginger, presses down hard against his stomach. His abs are burning with the effort that it takes to not slide down against the mirror. For a moment, the touch soothes him, and he arches up.

“Beautiful,” Ginger murmurs. “Fuck, I can feel us inside of you. Feel us fucking you like the little bitch you are. You like that? You like being so full you can practically see our cocks in your belly?”

Dean moans again, shaky with overstimulation and just wanting it to be over. He can’t think, can barely see through the haze that his orgasm left. All he can do is feel – their cocks hitting his prostate, the taut skin surrounding his hole unable to stretch any further, the bruising ache of two thick masses dragging in and out of his strained channel. Pain and pleasure become two sides of the same coin, and then blur together until they’re indistinguishable.

Ginger comes first, one hand on Dean’s shoulder and the other pushing back his left leg as far as it can possibly stretch. Warm come joins the mess left by the three others who fucked him without a condom.

Goatee finishes up a moment later, slumping over Dean and groaning as he comes in hot spurts. They stay like that for a minute, catching their breath while their cocks soften inside Dean.

Finally, just when Dean thinks his back is about to cramp up so bad he won’t be able to move for a week, they pull out. Dean almost cries out in relief when the pressure inside him lets up and his muscles slacken. 

They let go of his legs, which swing to the ground, and only years and years of training keep him able to catch his elbows on the counter. He sinks down to his knees in a mostly-controlled fall.

“Nice ass you got there. You gonna be around next week?” One asks Dad. Dean doesn’t pay attention to the answer, more preoccupied with catching his breath and trying to ignore the growing ache that threatens to consume every part of him that lies beneath his navel.

Distantly, he hears the bathroom door shut. The next moment, Dad is kneeling next to him, untying his wrists in one fluid movement.

“They paid extra,” Dean hears him say distantly, awkwardly pressing a hand between his shoulder blades. “Good job, kiddo.”

This part is always the worst. The aftermath, when they have to drive back to the motel together, neither mentioning what just happened.

Tonight is worse than usual. Dean’s _weak_ in a way he’s loath to admit, his legs shaky. He can barely control his fingers enough to pull up his boxers and button his jeans.

Dad stands, watching him. When Dean is all covered up (as if modesty means anything at this point), he silently reaches out a hand and pulls him to his feet.

They walk out like they always do, without a word. Dean limps over to the Impala and sits down while John heads inside the gas station to give the owner his cut.

He closes his eyes, hating the wet feeling inside of him almost as much as he hates the pain that he knows will be worse in the morning. And he and Sam are supposed to go for a run, ten miles, tomorrow, and he knows Dad won’t let up on them and he knows he’s going to be bruised, his legs strained from being pushed so far back, his insides hurting so much that all that’ll make him feel better is curling up on his side and sleeping for a week—

But he also knows that Sam will be eating good the next few days. They’ll have a roof over their heads when John heads out on his next hunt. They’ll be okay.

And that’s what really matters.

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt:
> 
> John pimps Dean out for money. He ties him up in a gas station bath room and anyone who walks in can have their way with him for 50 bucks. I would love to see some double pennetration. John either just watches or joins.


End file.
